


In the Pale Light of Dawn

by Not_All_Who_Wander_Are_Lost



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dealing With Trauma, Estinien Wyrmblood Being Estinien Wyrmblood, Estinien is Best Bro, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Mentioned Alphinaud Leveilleur, Mentioned Aymeric de Borel, Mentioned Minfilia Warde, Minor Spoilers, Nightmares, No class mentioned, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29901768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_All_Who_Wander_Are_Lost/pseuds/Not_All_Who_Wander_Are_Lost
Summary: Few understand the horrors the Warrior of Light has faced. Fewer still understand just how mortal and fragile she is.
Kudos: 10





	In the Pale Light of Dawn

There were worse things to be haunted by. She had seen true ghosts, battled gods, witnessed the effects of horror in a man’s mind. In her own mind. Yes, she knew those all too well. She knew the phantom-burn of Ifrit’s fire, the ephemeral chill of Shiva’s wind, the echoed screech of Garuda’s cries. She knew them because when she awoke they were no more. Not true ghosts, but ghosts enough to send her upright in her bedroll, shaking and gasping. Sometimes, she screamed. Screamed until a well-meaning ally woke her and guided her back to the land of reality.

She knew that Alphinaud did not understand, despite his attempts to do so. Hydaelyn bless him, his mind was still too full of book-learning to understand the nature of what was. His hands did not drip with the blood coating her own. He had not experienced nearly-death, time and time again. He’d felt the sting of deep betrayal, yes, and for the first time had a true taste of what was. There had been clarity in his eyes when he looked at her then. When he recognized that his infallible Warrior of Light was as mortal and fragile as he. Still, he did not know why she screamed, nor why she exhausted herself in the daylight hours so that the nightmares would have no room. 

Ysayel did, to an extent, see behind her eyes. When she’d been an enemy, that had been unsettling. Now that they’d allied themselves, trekking across dragon lands together, it still was. Though they were not the same, and their methods of coping with past horrors did not align, there was kindness in the Elezen’s face. _I know_ , her eyes whispered, _I know what it is that dwells within you._ Both of them had been broken, shattered by experience. Despite that, she did not want Ysayel’s comfort. She did not want the soft comfort promised in those sad eyes. She feared that, should she accept it, she would fall, never again to find the strength needed to face her next impossible foe. 

No, here in the wilds of Dravania, it was from a far more unlikely source that she took her solace. Unlikely because she did not even know what his face looked like. She knew him only by the blade of his lance and the rough timbre of his voice. Even then, never having seen more than the curve of his thin lips, she had grown surprisingly adept at reading him. Perhaps it was because he allowed her to. He made it no secret, his respect for her. For who she was as the Warrior of Light, and for who she was as herself. It had been that addendum that had granted her relief. 

She was accustomed to the awe inspired by her mantle. The cheers, the gazes glowing with admiration, the begging for a story of adventure. Even the Lord Commander of Ishgard’s knights admitted to being enthralled by her legend. She supposed, should one remove the veneer of reality through which she viewed the various moments of her adventures, she may be enthralled as well. She had slayed gods, toppled the hold of the Black Wolf, survived the Ascians, and united a land. Hydaelyn’s chosen. The stories glorified her actions, spinning them as though she had single-handedly done each and every one. She served only as the sword arm of a larger group, a close-knit circle who supported her. Gods, she missed them. 

It was they who first knew her as who she was- only a mortal, and adventurer. Still, even they regarded her with a measure of admiration. Even Minfillia, who had perhaps understood her best, had seemed to view her as something more-than. Perhaps she was. She did not feel as though she was. If she truly were more-than, would she be plagued by night terrors as she was?

Estinien’s taciturn demeanor, something she perceived made others uncomfortable, had been akin to a breath of fresh air after days spent indoors. She had not expected to find that breath in Ishgard, where even those who disliked her as an outsider still conducted themselves with civility. She was ill-equipped for games of words and politics, having grown far more accustomed to laying her heart bare or communicating through her skill in battle. Even Haurchefant, with whom she felt comfortable, had a way with words that put her off. Flowery language was Alphinaud’s realm, and how grateful she was to have him. 

Then, utterly unexpected, Estinien appeared with his brash mannerisms and visible contempt for the political maneuverings of those around him. He had treated her as he had everyone else, with a coldness that faded only when she proved herself. It had been a relief, not to be immediately regarded as more-than. _So, you are a legend_ , he’d seemed to challenge, _live up to it_.

She knew that she had earned his approval when he began speaking openly with her, positioning himself at her side and making off-hand observations in that snide tone that seemed so singularly his. It was then that she became familiar with his movements, seeing through the feline grace and to what was hidden beneath. She understood the cants of his helmet and the motions of his limbs, the press of his lips and the exhalations he gave in place of words. Some regarded him as unreadable. She disagreed. There was a language spoken between them, some strange flow of mutual respect and understanding. She knew that he was likely just as adept at reading her and deciphering the small tells she gave. He was certainly adept at responding. Enough so that, sometimes, she wondered if he had read her thoughts through some unknown Azure Dragoon power. 

It was Estinien who responded best when she awoke from the nightmares. He did not coddle her, did not offer to speak about them, did not move to touch her. Some nights, when she awoke during his watch, he simply silently regarded her, waiting for some unspoken signal that no, she had not shattered. Some nights he paid her no mind at all, attention still turned toward their surroundings. Some nights, when she could not sleep and the horrors ran rampant through her thoughts, she would sit beside him, taking solace in the steadiness of him. Some nights, they would sit in silence, side by side. Some nights, they would speak, and the low, deep lull of his voice would ease her. Some nights, she would again sleep, propped up beside him, her dreams instead filled with the memories of her friends and happier times and the thrum of his voice. Of all the thigs to be haunted by, she was full glad he gave her something so kind.


End file.
